


Get Down On Your Knees And Tell Me You Love Me

by heartsandmuses



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Misunderstandings, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Stony Week, Stony Week 2019, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsandmuses/pseuds/heartsandmuses
Summary: When Steve opens the page to this month’s calendar, he freezes as he catches sight of a reminder in the space for next Friday, exactly a week from now.PROPOSAL!It’s circled a bunch of times, and if that isn’t enough to mark the importance of the word, it’s also underlined twice, and covered with bright orange highlighter for good measure.Steve stares for a long moment, feeling his heart jump into his throat.Tony’s going to propose.





	Get Down On Your Knees And Tell Me You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> For [Stony Week 2019](https://stony-week.tumblr.com/) \- day 7 // prompt: "proposals"

It’s an honest mistake, really.

Steve’s tired from his sparring session with Nat and late to lunch with Bucky, so when he sweeps through the lab to pick up his sketchbook and kiss Tony goodbye on the way out, he’s too distracted to notice his own carelessness right away.

In fact, Steve manages to make it through the rest of the day before he even reaches for his sketchbook again. He’s back in the penthouse, lounging around in front of the TV and waiting for Tony to get home from his board meeting so they can decide what to have for dinner, when Steve catches sight of the Manhattan skyline outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s the same view he gets every day, of course, but there’s just something about the way the sun is setting in the background, the oranges and pinks and purples all bleeding together so beautifully, that makes his fingers itch to capture it on paper.

So he pulls his sketchbook out of his messenger bag, opens it to a fresh page, and—

Sees Tony’s messy handwriting all over it.

He flips to the cover, only then realizing the leather’s just a shade too dark, the weight’s a little off, and instead of the few photographs of Bucky and Peggy and Tony he keeps tucked between the first two pages for inspiration, all he finds are business cards. And if that’s not enough to convince Steve that he grabbed the wrong book in his rush this morning, the monogrammed _A.E.S._ on the back cover is pretty much a dead giveaway.

It’s Tony’s day planner.

To be honest, Steve’s more than a little stunned to find that he actually owns one—much less uses it—what with the amount of meetings he’s late to on a regular basis and the number of deadlines he misses entirely, and it’s the utter surprise that leads Steve to leaf through the first few pages. As he’s perusing (although there’s not really much more to see in Tony’s notes than things like: _gala tonight (wildlife charity? wildfires?)_ or _dentist appt. - floss first!_ which Steve has to admit is a little endearing), a business card falls into his lap.

It’s one of Tony’s own, which he’s probably just using as a bookmark, and when Steve opens the page to this month’s calendar to put it back, he freezes as he catches sight of a reminder in the space for next Friday, exactly a week from now.

**_PROPOSAL!_ **

It’s circled a bunch of times, and if that isn’t enough to mark the importance of the word, it’s also underlined twice, and covered with bright orange highlighter for good measure.

Steve stares for a long moment, feeling his heart jump into his throat.

Tony’s going to propose.

It’s not like they haven’t talked about this, the future of their relationship: they’ve been going out for, god, just under two years now, of course they’ve talked about it. Despite Tony’s history with commitment, and Steve’s inexperience with relationships, they’d both made it abundantly clear that they were on the same page with this—that this was long-term—even in simple moments where Tony would murmur _I can’t imagine waking up next to anyone else_ or Steve would softly say _you’re it for me, you know that?_

But _marriage_ , well, that was always more of a hypothetical thing, a _maybe one day_ , a _further down the line_.

Which is why Steve definitely doesn’t expect it so soon.

Like, _next week_ soon.

But once he gets over his initial shock, he has to admit, he does like the sound of it, of an extravagant proposal, an elegant wedding, of being able to call Tony his husband. Just the thought makes Steve smile stupidly to himself, his stomach all aflutter, and he’s so swept up in his elation that he almost doesn’t catch the ding of the elevator as the doors open.

Knowing Tony, he’s probably planned something elaborate, and the last thing Steve wants is for all that hard work to go to waste. Or, even worse, for his knowledge of the proposal to inadvertently deter Tony from attempting it at all. So, without a second thought, he closes the planner, shoves it under the couch cushions, and tries to seat himself in a way that says he’s just been relaxing for the past ten minutes.

It seems that he doesn’t actually accomplish that though, because less than a second after Tony enters the living room, he pauses, offers a lopsided grin, and cocks a brow at Steve. “Someone’s happy today,” he notes, coming over to set his briefcase down on a nearby recliner and drop a kiss to Steve’s crown. “What happened? Did you save a kitten from a tree? Was there a sale on Raisin Bran at Whole Foods?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head a little. “Just happy you’re home,” he says simply, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels; by the way Tony’s expression softens from teasing to fond, he’s not quite sure he’s managed it.

Tony flops down beside him, stretching out until he has his arms draped over the back of the couch and his feet propped up on the coffee table. Immediately, Steve snuggles closer until their thighs are pressed against each other and he can drop his head onto Tony’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a long, peaceful moment.

Which then gets interrupted by the loud rumble of Steve’s stomach, followed by Tony’s surprised laughter. “Jesus. No wonder you’re so happy I’m finally home,” he says lightly. “Sounds like you’re starving.”

Steve’s ears turn pink, but he still cracks a smile. “Getting there.”

And as Tony pulls out his phone to look through all the options on Postmates, throwing out suggestions every so often, Steve takes a moment to admire the sight: Tony’s profile, illuminated by the light of the screen; the brightness in his eyes every time he glances over; the way he bites his lip in thought, a small smile curling at the corners.

It really hits him, in tiny, mundane moments like these, just how much he loves Tony. There have been a lot of important people in Steve’s life, but this— This is different. The way he feels about Tony, it’s all-consuming, it’s intoxicating, and Steve’s just glad he’s gotten a good look at that calendar, otherwise he may have popped the question himself right then and there.

  
***

 

The next morning, while Tony’s still asleep, Steve sneaks into the lab, right before he goes out to meet Sam for their daily run. Luckily, the desk is messy enough to hide the fact that Steve has to dig around a little before he finds his sketchbook, hidden under a stack of blueprints, and quickly replaces it with the planner. He hopes Tony hasn’t noticed its absence, and when a day passes, then two, then three, without Tony bringing it up at all, Steve considers himself in the clear.

  
***

 

The rest of the week passes slowly.

By the end of it, Steve’s so keyed up, thinking that Tony, known for both his theatrics and his inability to stick to most plans, is going to propose sooner, that he all but jumps at every electric touch between them and lights up at every simple _I love you_.

On Sunday morning, when Steve wakes up to the feeling of Tony peppering kisses over the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, and down the column of his neck, he’s almost positive that it’s going to happen then, until the alarm goes off and they’re both called into a mission. On Tuesday night, when Tony asks JARVIS to play the best of Glenn Miller, gently coaxing Steve into a slow dance, a large part of him expects Tony to drop to one knee right on the living room rug. And again, on Thursday afternoon, when Tony stops in the middle of the sidewalk as they’re returning home from lunch, patting the pockets of his jacket — and while Steve lights up, waiting for him to pull out a little velvet box, it turns out Tony’s just left his wallet at the bistro and they have to go back.

A part of Steve is impressed that Tony’s managed to stay on schedule in a way he rarely ever does, and another part of him is relieved that he won’t have to keep practicing surprised faces in the mirror for when the time finally comes.

Mostly, though, Steve’s just plain antsy.

It’s even worse when Friday finally rolls around.

And while Tony definitely notices something is up, Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t suspect it has anything to do with the proposal.

He’s ninety-nine percent sure, anyway.

It certainly doesn’t help that whenever he’s asked, a blush crawls up the side of Steve’s neck, a dopey little smile coming over his features, and he shakes his head as he stammers out a half-intelligible response.

It’s unfair, really, how Steve can maintain a poker face in the most dire of times, can keep secrets even the government wishes they could know, but one look at Tony and he just unravels into a tomato-faced mess.

  
***

 

“You’re not busy tonight, are you?” Tony asks, as they’re getting into the elevator. He presses the button for the gym, then the one for the R&D offices. “Because I made reservations at that Italian place uptown — the one we went to on our anniversary, remember?”

Steve’s heart catches, as if saying, _this is it!_ “Yeah,” he says, going for casual, but the attempt is undermined by the fact that he nearly swallows his tongue in the process. “I mean no. I mean, yeah, I remember, and no, I’m not— Not busy tonight.”

“Okay, good,” Tony says. He’s got a funny little look on his face, like he’s trying to solve a difficult equation, and just as he’s surely about to ask if Steve’s okay for the fourth time in half as many hours, the elevator opens with a ding.

Steve rushes out before he can give himself away, turning around just as the doors start to close, to offer a smile. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

Tony reciprocates with a smile of his own, soft and warm, one that feels entirely like home. “See you tonight. Seven sharp, don’t be late. And wear cufflinks!”

  
***

Dinner starts off perfect.

The restaurant serves an endless stream of breadsticks, the best mushroom risotto Steve’s ever tasted, and even though the wine doesn’t have any effect on him, it still pairs nicely with the meal. And anyway, Tony’s company is intoxicating enough: Steve’s already half-drunk on that brilliant pearly grin, and when Tony starts talking about some new venture at SI, it’s like his whole body lights up, more loose and relaxed and happy than he usually is, and Steve naturally follows suit.

He’s absolutely captivated by the sight of Tony like this, completely in his element, and more than once he gets lost in the deep, rich brown of his eyes. Steve's heart hammers so loudly in his ears that he hardly hears what Tony’s saying, even with his enhanced senses, but he manages to catch a few words here and there.

“They’re gonna be more intuitive than anything on the market right now. More accessible, easier to use, and all at a way lower cost, too,” Tony rambles on, like he’s prone to do when he’s especially excited. He gesticulates with the fork in his hand, fusilli speared on the tines. “I’ve already drafted up a proposal and showed it to the guys down at R&D today. They say that it’s definitely doable. We might even be able to get a beta out by the end of the quarter, and if all goes well, a full product launch by the end of the year.”

Steve blinks. In the flurry of Tony’s enthusiastic explanation, one word in particular stands out like a sore thumb, and Steve has to play the conversation back a little to make sure he’s not just hearing things.

“Sorry, wait, rewind a bit,” he interjects before Tony can go on. “What’d you say?”

“The new line of tablets, they might be coming out by the end of the year.”

“No, uh, before that,” Steve clarifies. “Something about R&D?”

Tony shoves the pasta into his mouth, finally, and chews as he speaks. Which would usually earn him a light reprimand from Steve, but he lets it go this time, too distracted to pay it much mind. “Oh, yeah, I gave a presentation on all of it today. Even made a PowerPoint and everything. Loads of pictures, nice clean theme. And I guess it worked because R&D seemed to really like the proposal.”

The proposal.

_Of course_.

It’s not a _marriage_ thing, it’s a _work_ thing — and it has nothing to do with Steve at all.

Disappointment grows heavy in his stomach, weighing him down, which is absolutely ridiculous because a week ago, he hardly even considered the idea of marriage. It makes no sense to feel this gutted about not getting proposed to.

And yet... The more he thinks about it, the more he wants it — and Steve’s thought about it _a lot_ in the past week: being able to call Tony his husband, wearing matching rings, vowing to commit to each other for the rest of their lives. And while Steve certainly plans on being with Tony for as long as he can—forever, hopefully—whether they’re married or not, there’s just something about the simple act of celebrating their love, surrounded by all the important people in their lives, that appeals to the romantic in Steve.

It’s something he’s always wanted, deep down. But considering his track record with relationships, it never seemed possible until he met Tony.

And even now, it’s just out of reach.

He realizes he hasn’t said anything for a long moment, and just as Tony’s expectant look turns into something closer to worry, Steve pastes on a smile and reaches across the table to give his boyfriend’s—not his fiancé’s, not his husband’s—hand a gentle squeeze.

“That’s amazing, honey,” Steve says, and for a second there, the lingering disappointment flickers away, replaced with genuine delight at the news. He can tell by the look in Tony’s eyes that this is a project he’s immensely passionate about, and Steve tries to set his own feelings aside while they celebrate. “I’m really proud of you.”

There isn’t much that brings a blush to Tony’s cheeks, but that simple sentence never fails to do the trick. “How about some champagne?” he suggests, already flagging down the waiter. “Toast to a productive day at work — might as well commemorate the occasion while we can, it could be a while before it happens again.”

 

***

 

It’s an hour later when Tony finally asks, though it’s not exactly the question Steve’s hoping for.

“Are you okay?”

He’s not, really. Steve’s still a little let down and a little embarrassed, mostly by his own idiocy—for a strategist, he sure has an awful habit of not thinking things through sometimes, and today’s no different—but he thought he’d be able to hide it, just enough to recollect himself and move past this whole thing. And preferably before Tony says anything about it.

But either he overestimates his acting skills or underestimates Tony’s attentiveness, because he doesn’t even make it through their bedtime routine before the truth finally comes out.

“Because you seem kinda... off,” Tony continues, leaning against the door to the walk-in closet as he unfastens his cufflinks and unbuttons his shirt. “You were spaced out for most of dinner, and you’ve been... I don’t know, weirdly jumpy the past week, and you keep giving me this look like I forgot to wish you happy birthday. Except I didn’t, because your birthday’s next month.”

Steve slips into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants, turned away from Tony with the excuse of modesty. Really, he just doesn’t want to look him in the eyes as he says, “Sorry, I’m just tired today, that’s all.”

Tony hums dubiously, and when Steve turns back around, hoping to slip out of the room without making a bigger deal of the situation than need be, Tony stops him dead in his tracks with a gentle hand on Steve’s chest.

He doesn’t even need to say anything. All it takes is one look at the frown curling at his lips and those big, sad puppy eyes, and Steve just sighs, deflating with the motion, and admits, “It’s stupid.”

“Can’t be that stupid, if it’s making you so upset,” Tony says simply. “C’mon, tell me. What’s wrong?”

Steve huffs out a breath, not knowing where to even start.

He does know, however, that he can’t look at Tony while he’s saying it, and he brushes past him, out of the closet, and sits down on the edge of the bed instead. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, Steve takes a moment to collect his thoughts, listening to the sounds of Tony getting ready for bed: the shuffling of clothes as he strips out of them, the light swish as they get tossed into the hamper one-by-one, the long stretch of silence that follows.

He’s still not looking at him, but Steve’s been with Tony long enough to know that he’s standing in the doorway, debating whether to come closer or to leave some space between them.

Steve decides for him, patting the mattress in invitation.

“I took a peek at your planner the other day,” he starts, once he feels the bed dip beside him and Tony’s hand running soothingly over his back. “I didn’t mean to—it looks exactly the same as my sketchbook—but I saw that under today’s date, you wrote ‘ _proposal_.’”

Tony hums, confused and drawn-out. “Well, yeah. Because I had to present my proposal to R&D.”

“Yeah, no, I know that now. But...” Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, before he finally looks over at Tony. “I got it in my head that you were going to propose to me today.”

Tony blinks, his hand pausing on Steve’s back. “Oh,” he says after a moment, his expression going slack, eyes wide and mouth agape. He swallows, licks his lips. “And you’re upset because you didn’t want me to, or because you did?”

“Because I did,” Steve says softly, heart thundering in his chest. “And then you didn’t.”

Tony doesn’t say anything after that, but Steve can practically hear the cogs turning up in that big brain of his.

He’s not sure whether it’s a good sign or a bad one that he’s somehow, against all odds, managed to render Tony speechless, but it’s strange and a little uncomfortable and Steve can’t stand the suffocating silence so he fills it himself.

“See? What’d I tell you, it’s stupid,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, but something about it falls flat. Still, he decides to lay all his cards out on the table before he can talk himself out of it, and a little more seriously, Steve adds, “Listen, I know we’ve brought it up a few times before, but we’ve never, y’know, sat down and talked about when it might happen. We haven’t even really decided if it’s going to happen at all.” He reaches up to cup Tony’s cheek, searching his eyes as he keeps going, determined. “But I love you so much, Tony, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s okay if you don’t want to get married, and it’s okay if you need some time to think about it, but I... just... What— What are you doing?”

But it starts to become increasingly obvious what Tony’s doing, as he stands up from the bed and sinks down to one knee in front of Steve. Reaching out, he takes one of Steve’s hands in both of his own, and presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

It’s Steve’s turn to be speechless now, and it takes a handful of half-finished sentences before he manages to find the right words. “If you’re doing this just to humor me...”

“I’m not,” Tony says, honest as anything. He takes a deep breath, as if to prepare himself, and just for a second there, Steve can see through the cool exterior, can see that Tony’s actually _nervous_ , eyes dropping down to the carpet as he collects his thoughts, biting his lip out of habit, and when he looks up at Steve again, his smile’s soft and fond. “Believe me, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I’ve actually—god, this is embarrassing, and it’s a real testament to how much I love you, the fact that I’m telling you this—but I’ve wanted to marry Captain America since I was two years old and dressed up as you for Halloween for the first time,” Tony admits, a pink tint to his cheeks. He gives Steve’s hand a light squeeze. “And I’ve wanted to marry Steve Rogers since I was forty-two and I watched you fall asleep in the middle of the shawarma place after New York.

“Baby, if I had known you wanted this as much as I do, I would’ve proposed to you months ago. God knows I’ve wanted to about a hundred times since we got together.” Tony’s throat works as he swallows. “The, uh. The only reason I haven’t gone through with it is because, I just, I didn’t think I was husband material. Didn’t think I was good enough for you.” And it must show on Steve’s face, how badly he wants to cut in, to assure Tony that he’s enough, that he’s _more_ than enough, because Tony just smiles and shakes his head, barrelling on before Steve can get a word in edgewise. “But if you think I am, I trust you. And I’m gonna do everything I can to prove you right.

“You mean the world to me, you know that? When I’m with you, I feel so happy and so lucky and so loved, and all I want is to spend the rest of my life making you feel the same way.

“So, Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, surprisingly shy, as if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of Steve saying no. “Will you marry me?”

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he lets out a wet, choked-up little laugh, his heart swelling with affection. And maybe this isn’t quite the proposal he’d been imagining for himself the past couple days, but it’s perfect nonetheless, and he cups Tony’s face between his hands and pulls him in for a kiss.

It’s short and sweet, the two of them smiling against each other’s lips too much to really deepen it, and when Tony finally pulls back, it’s just enough to murmur, “Is that a yes?”

Steve nods, feeling like he’s floating. “It’s a yes,” he says, resting his foreheads together.

They stay like that for a moment, breathing each other in, Tony turning his head slightly to press a kiss to Steve’s palm, Steve stroking a thumb over Tony’s cheekbone.

“I don’t have a ring,” he confesses, after another moment passes. “I mean, I do have a ring, I just... don’t have it here. It’s down in the lab.” Tony chuckles, bashful and apologetic, taking a moment to look down at himself. He looks kind of ridiculous, but in a way that Steve finds hopelessly endearing: his hair’s mussed without any pomade keeping it in place, he’s wearing Captain America socks with matching shield boxers, and he lifts his hands like he’s not quite sure what to do with them before finally settling them on Steve’s knees, meeting his gaze once more. “I didn’t expect to be proposing tonight, I’m a little under-prepared. If I had known in advance, I might’ve kept my pants on.”

Steve laughs, but his tone is earnest as he says, “I don’t need a ring. Or pants. All I need is you.”

  
***

 

“It was my first time making one of these,” Tony tells him, hands behind his back. “So. Go easy on me, okay?”

“Relax, sweetheart,” Steve says, and even though he told Tony he doesn’t care about the ring, the anticipation of seeing it still makes him buzz, and he channels all that bottled-up energy into the kiss he presses to Tony’s lips in assurance. It’s not the ring itself that matters, really — it’s what it represents: their love, their devotion, their future together. It’s something that Steve will see every day for the rest of his life, something that will remind him of Tony no matter how far apart they might be. “You know I’ll love it no matter what.”

Tony bites his lip, and with that sweet, nervous little smile, finally holds out the small velvet box. He pops it open, and sitting on the plush cushion is the most gorgeous ring Steve’s ever seen. It’s plain, just a simple silver band, and for a second, he thinks it might be made out of vibranium, the way it reflects off the bright lights in the lab.

“Palladium,” Tony supplies. He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing. “I made it out of my first arc reactor. So that you’d always have a piece of my heart with you, wherever you go.”

Steve all but melts at the words, and just when he thinks he can’t possibly love Tony any more than he already does, he catches sight of an inscription written along the inside of the ring.

Steve can’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “ _Proof that Tony Stark has a heart_ ,” he reads aloud.

Tony hums as he takes the ring, slipping it onto Steve’s finger. “And it belongs entirely to you.”

  
***

 

It’s six months before Steve makes the same mistake, opening his sketchbook only to find Tony’s distinct scrawl lining the margins, sticky notes and business cards where there should be blank pages. And while usually Steve would close it, trek back down to the lab, and switch it back, there’s an entry in the box for next week that makes him pause, heart skipping a beat at the sight.

**_WEDDING!_ **

It’s circled, underlined, highlighted. Surrounded by tiny hearts, little doodles, variations of both of their names.

_Tony Rogers. Steve Stark. Tony Stark-Rogers._

The latter’s the only one that hasn’t been crossed out, and at the bottom of the page, Tony’s practiced his new signature—hyphen and all—about a hundred times.

It’s so adorable, imagining Tony doodling in his notebook like a lovestruck teenager, that when he actually sweeps into the kitchen a moment later, as if on cue, Steve’s still beaming like an idiot, admiring his ring.

“Think I have something of yours,” Tony says, holding up the familiar sketchbook. When he finally catches sight of Steve’s surely dopey expression, he lifts a brow, opening his mouth to speak, but his question is promptly answered as his gaze drops down to the planner laid out on the counter in front of Steve. “Ah, snooping again, are we?” he teases. “Find anything interesting?”

“Not snooping,” Steve protests, unable to bite back his smile. “But yeah, actually, I did.”

“Oh?”

Steve turns the planer around, nudging it closer to Tony. “Looks like someone’s got a crush,” he says in a giddy sing-song that immediately earns him a fond eye-roll from his fiancé.

And he’s still getting used to that, calling Tony his fiancé. But Steve figures he shouldn’t worry too much about it, because soon enough—one week’s time—he’ll be able to call him his husband instead. The thought alone warms him from the inside-out, and a shiver of delight runs down his spine.

“You wanna play that game, big guy?” Tony says, almost challenging. He opens the sketchbook to a random page, holding it out for Steve to see, and of course, there’s a drawing of Tony smack-dab in the center. It’s a little eerie, actually, how Drawing Tony is wearing a nearly identical expression to Real Tony, smug smirk firmly in place, brow cocked and eyes full of mischief. “Because _I_ found something pretty interesting, too.”

There’s another sketch of Tony on the next page, and the next, and the next, little bits and pieces of him filling the entire book: half-finished studies of his smile, his hands, his eyes. Full portraits of him lost in thought, or mid-laugh, or failing to bite back a grin. There’s everything from simple charcoals to vibrant watercolours, and as Tony flips through them all at a leisurely pace, a flush runs from Steve’s ears all the way down to his neck.

“What can I say,” he finally manages. “You’re my muse."

And that—sweet and sappy as it may have been—is enough for Tony’s smirk to lose some of its edge, softening into a small, smitten smile. “And you’re a sap,” he replies, coming over to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek and hand back the sketchbook. “I love it, though. Love you.”

Even after all this time, the words never fail to make Steve’s stomach flutter, and he preens under the attention, stealing a kiss, a real one, before he lets Tony wander to the other side of the kitchen to rummage through the fridge.

There’s nothing particularly spectacular about the sight, save for the fact that it’s Tony, who looks picturesque in even the most ordinary moments, but Steve still opens his sketchbook to a fresh page, smooths it out, and begins to draw.

He’s sketched Tony so many times that he can practically do it in his sleep — it takes only a couple minutes for him to draft his outline, filling it in with the smaller details afterwards. He casts his face in the light from the fridge, illuminating his contemplative expression, Tony’s tongue poking out from between his teeth and a hand running through his hair. He does another sketch beside it, of Tony standing at the counter, making a sandwich. And a third, of Tony with his mouth full, gesticulating with his food as he talks.

Pretty soon Steve’s mind begins to drift, and his drawings of Tony in the kitchen turn into Tony in a church, standing at the altar, with stained glass windows overhead and all his groomsmen beside him. Tony, getting choked up in the middle of his vows, tears collecting in the corners of his eyes, his smile bigger and brighter than Steve’s ever seen it. Tony’s ring glistening on his finger as he cups Steve’s cheeks and pulls him in for a kiss while the priest’s still mid-sentence.

_Just one more week_ , Steve thinks to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> The title's from [Home Alone.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z1ra4nTxWao)


End file.
